The going to the dogs Affair
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are charged with escorting a purebred dog from Switzerland to the Westminster Kennel Club show in New York. Pre-saga
1. Chapter 1

"Entlebucher Sennenhund," Alexander Waverly said with just the proper amount of accent.

"I know it's a Swiss dog breed sir, but that's about it," Napoleon said, giving his partner a sideways glance. He could already sense the discomfort emanating from the Russian.

"Yes Mr. Solo, it is also referred to as the Entlebucher Mountain Dog and is the smallest of the four Sennenhunds. The name Sennenhund refers to people called Senn, herders in the Swiss Alps. Entlebuch is a municipality in the canton of Lucerne"

"And we are to escort this...'dog' to the United States?" Illya asked; his voice was calm but his insides were churning. The Russian had been staring at a photograph of the animal the entire time and had not said a word.

"Not just any dog, Mr. Kuryakin. Hans is a purebred and the winningest dog in his breed. He is due to compete here in New York at the Westminster Kennel Club championships and is favored to place if not win grand champion."

"And why are we dog-sitting this 'Hans?" Napoleon asked.

"There are rumors that an attempt will be made to dog-nap the creature and hold it for ransom, as it were. Hans is owned by the Italian Ambassador to the United Nations, and his vote will be critical in the decision to bring sanctions against certain countries for civil right violations. Stealing his champion dog Hans and holding it for ransom could indeed sway the man's vote as he is quite attached to the animal, not to mention the financial aspect of owning such a valuable dog. Hans' stud fees are among the highest in the world, not to mention at the moment, he is one of the most sought-after studs for breeding.

"Mmm stud, right up your alley," Illya leaned over whispering to his partner. He finally looked up from the file sitting on the table in front of him and removed his reading glasses as he spoke out.

"Sir, is there any way you could have another agent take this assignment instead of …"

Alexander Waverly stared down his Russian operative with a huff.

"Mr. Kuryakin, I know what you are alluding to and I'll have none of it. You must simply get over this irrational fear of yours. I understand your training with dogs at the GRU was quite brutal, but this is another world and quite different from your military intelligence training. From what I understand, Hans is a most agreeable and gentle fellow, so what better way to face your fear than with a well-trained, friendly dog."

"Yes, sir." Illya lowered his eyes, not wishing to engage the Old Man in a battle of wills over this. His thoughts drifted back not only to a GRU training exercise where he'd nearly been killed by an attack dog, but to his childhood on the streets of Kyiv and being hunted by packs of starving wild dogs. Though he did manage to defend himself in both situations, the terror he experienced still remained hidden within his psyche, and it was a fear he just couldn't shake.

"Any further questions gentlemen?" Waverly's answer was silence. "Very well then, I will see you here in three days time after you have delivered Hans safely to his owner and handler at Madison Square Garden."

Waverly sent them off with a dismissive wave of his hand, turning his attention back to a stack of personnel files the conference table. He needed to do some reshuffling of agents, and was considering transferring the only other female Section II agent, besides April Dancer, from London to New York.

Her tenure there was quite volatile and he had no wish to lose a competent agent to the likes of that miscreant, Harry Beldon. There was something odd going on in the London office, and he was determined to find out what it was.

Though Beldon was a Continental Chief, his methods of running his division were at best, questionable. Even Kuryakin, who had been his one-time protegé, sensed something wrong with Harry, as the Russian had put it, "Harry Beldon has his own agenda, and I do not think it coincides with UNCLE precepts."

The CCO had much thinking to do about this woman, Elliott Tatanya McGowan. She was feisty, with a chip on her shoulder and Beldon had made certain accusations against her, attempting to demote her from Section II on the say so of his CEA, Owen Smythe. McGowan walked off her job, refusing to be de-programmed, but Waverly, in a bold move, invited her to New York to discuss the accusations against her as well reinstatement.

She was due to arrive in a few days.

.

Napoleon and Illya walked along the busy corridor to the office they shared, grabbing their travel cases for the flight. They were to pick up the pooch from the kennels at the breeders estate outside the sparsely populated village of Bourg-Saint-Pierre located on the Swiss-Italian border.

Its population was less than two hundred people, so any strangers showing up in the area would be spotted quickly, and for that reason it was surmised the dog-napping attempt wouldn't happen there. Most likely it would happen if at all, en route to the U.S. or before arriving at Madison Square Garden.

Illya dumped the file on his desk, flopping down into his chair with an unhappy look on his face.

"You know Waverly is right, you need to get over this problem you have with dogs," Napoleon said as he pulled their valises from the closet.

"I know that," Kuryakin mumbled. "Do you not think I have tried to conquer my fear of dogs?"

"Well...no actually. All I ever see is you climbing a tree when a dog is around. I don't call that conquering your fear."

"Keep in mind the ones I am usually fleeing from are Doberman and German Shepherd attack dogs who are trying to eat me."

Napoleon chuckled, recalling an incident involving a dachshund named Yippie * "True, but the Old Man said this dog is friendly, so maybe it might be a good step for you." Napoleon looked at his watch. "Time to go."

"Might we stop at the commissary for a couple of sandwiches. I did not have time for lunch," Illya asked sheepishly.

Napoleon clicked his tongue. "You need to start carrying snacks with you pal."

"I do, but they are not enough."

"You know, I don't get how you stay so skinny with the way you can pack away food. Sometimes it's not fair," Napoleon chuckled, patting his stomach. "Some of us have to watch what we eat in order to maintain a manly figure."

"Trust me Napoleon, you would not want my metabolism." Illya smiled, grabbing his suitcase from his partner's hand. Together they headed first for the pit stop at the commissary and then out of headquarters to Kennedy airport.

Their flight was due to leave in two hours, and but with heavy traffic from a pile up right before the Triboro bridge on the FDR Drive, they had just enough time to make it there as the final announcement to board was being made.

Napoleon tossed their tickets the lovely girl at the gate, flashing her a flirtatious smile, as Illya grabbed their boarding pass from her hand as she was too preoccupied flirting back with his partner.

"Do you ever turn it off," he mumbled.

"Not a chance," Napoleon winked as they walked down the jetway to board their flight.

A blonde stewardess dressed in a powder-blue jacket, skirt and matching cap greeted them with white-gloved hands as they entered.

"Hello, my name is Züsi. Welcome to SAS airlines, I hope you'll enjoy your flight." Her identical twin stepped out from behind her. "Ja, welcome aboard gentlemen." The women were wearing identical Swiss Air uniforms and were mirror images of each other.

"I will knowing you're here Züsi and..." Napoleon smiled at them.

"Oh my name is Züsi- Ketti," she giggled in reply.

"Interesting, Susie and Susie-Catherine, what lovely names for two lovely ladies..." He gallantly bowed to them.

Illya said nothing and simply rolled his eyes as he squeezed past his partner heading for his seat. He tucked his small suitcase in the overhead compartment, but shrugged to himself, reminding himself it was rare that women paid attention to him, especially when the American was around... not that he wanted female admiration as it was too much of a distraction; that his partner could have.

He preferred to find women more to his own taste and on his own time, unlike Napoleon who'd chase after any pretty girl every time he had the chance, whether he was on duty or not. That, he supposed, was just part of the package that was Napoleon Solo, he had his own way of doing things and definitely a sense of charisma along with many other attributes both personality-wise and physically that attracted women to them.

As Napoleon always said..."When you've got it you got it..."and Illya had finally resigned himself to whatever this 'it' was, yes, his partner did possess something, and animal magnetism, he supposed was part of it.

"Hmmm, animal magnetism?" Illya smiled, "all the better for Napoleon to deal with their charge, Hans..."


	2. Chapter 2

They settled into their seats, as usual in the coach section; Napoleon immediately starting to flirt with the two stewardesses.

Twins always seemed to fascinate the man and Illya could only imagine where his partner's mind was wandering. He was becoming accustomed to Solo's ways with women, and was leaning to ignore them, and putting those thoughts aside, he decided to open his pastrami sandwich and eat it.

One of the stewardesses spotted him and smiled. "You are aware we will be serving snacks and dinner on the flight...Mr. Kuryakin?" Züsi smiled at him.

Illya nodded his head, finishing chewing his mouthful of food before speaking. "Yes, and I look forward to them. Might I have a drink to wash this down please?"

"The serving cart isn't brought out until we are airborne and leveled out...but I will see what I can do? Would a glass of beer suffice? It's complimentary," Züsi-Ketti quickly added.

_"Ja, danke,_" he thanked her in German.

_"Mein Vergnügen_my pleasure,_" she smiled, and surprisingly batted her eyes at the Russian; that made Napoleon's face contort in his frustration. He'd flashed his most charming smile at the twins but after their brief encounter, they seemed to be ignoring him in favor of his friend. What they saw in the shaggy-haired Russian over him, he had no idea.

The flight was uneventful and the two agents spent most of their time reading or sleeping. The in-flight movie was a James Bond film and neither man was interested it it. Even the conversation was at a minimum as it seemed Illya was in less a talkative mood than usual, so Napoleon didn't press the issue.

Who knew what was going on the Russian's head about this assignment, a babysitting job for a dog? Napoleon had seen the fear in Illya's eyes when it came to dealing with canines, and made up his mind do his best to help his partner get through this.

There'd be minimal contact with Hans, when they picked him up at the chalet, and dropped him off at the Garden in New York. The dog would be kept in a kennel cab for the trip, so no worries there for Illya. And Napoleon supposed he could be the one to walk the dog when needed. He, like Waverly wanted Illya to get over his phobia, but as the old saying went, 'you can lead a horse to water, but can't make him drink.' Illya wouldn't get over his fear until he was truly ready to do so.

Their flight landed and and they found a private car waiting there for them to take them to Bourg-Saint-Pierre, sans driver, so Illya got behind the wheel. When they arrived sometime later they found an elegant chalet nestled in a lush green countryside, looking very much like a picture postcard.

The car was parked on the gravel driveway and they approached the front door; Napoleon giving the brass knocker a few taps.

The door opened and a lovely blonde woman answered.

_"Willkommen. Sie müssen die Herren von UNCLE sein_ welcome. You must be the gentlemen from UNCLE."_

Before they could answer, they heard the sudden sound of baying and barking, and a pack of Entlebucher Mountain Dogs charged from around the side of the house.

Napoleon watched as Illya turned tail and ran at full speed, heading for the car and throw himself in the back seat, quickly slamming the door closed after himself.

"They won't hurt, they are well trained," the woman at the door laughed," and besides, most of them are just pups."

A few of them jumped up against Napoleon's legs, greeting him with yips and lolling tongues.

"I'm sorry, but they like you," she smiled, ordering them down in German, and sending them away. The dogs obeyed immediately.

"I take it your friend does not like dogs?"

"That is an understatement." Napoleon smiled. "My name is Napoleon Solo," he introduced himself, showing his ID. "And yes, we're here to escort Hans to New York."

"My name is Mieli Bixler and I am the trainer and breeder for Signor Fratelli."

Napoleon politely shook her hand, trying not to eye the pretty blonde.

"I think your friend can get out of the car now," she laughed softly. "I find it rather odd that Mr. Waverly sent someone who is afraid of dogs to do this job."

"So did my partner, but he had no choice in the matter. Trust me though, Mr, Kuryakin is very good at what he does, and won't let his little phobia get in the way of his work.'

"Oh I'm sure of that, otherwise why would UNCLE have sent him with you. Please come in, I'm sure you're a bit tired from your flight and drive up here."

Napoleon waved for Illya to come in, giving him the thumbs up the coast was clear.

He hopped out of the car, giving a quick lookout for anymore dogs, and seeing or hearing none, he walked quickly to the door.

Introductions were made and they all went inside. Mieli took them to a spacious sitting room, replete with a crackling fireplace. There was an immense picture window at the back of the room giving a spectacular view up the mountains and Napoleon's head was instantly filled with images of ski lodges and snow bunnies.

Mieli brought in a tray of chocolate flavored coffee and some finger sandwiches and spoke to the agents about the situation while they nibbled.

"Why not withdraw the dog from the show, rather than expose it to this possible threat?" Illya asked.

"Oh it is obvious you know nothing about showing dogs Mr. Kuryakin. Westminster is the most prestigious dog show in the world. Grand champions become more valuable and their stud feeds increase exponentially. There is a very good chance Hans will win, and I as his breeder will become quite wealthy thanks to him, and pups he sires will fetch a much higher price."

"So it is about business then," Illya nodded.

"Yes that, but there is still the prestige to be garnered." She pointed to the number of ribbons and trophies displayed on the wall behind them. "Until Hans came along, that wall was very empty. He has been a Godsend to my breeding program as well as my livelihood. Would you like to meet him now?

Illya stiffened instantly and Mieli saw it. "I assure you Mr. Kuryakin, Hans is a most gentle and gentlemanly dog. You have nothing to fear from him."

"I understand that, but my brain will not tell my psyche that."

"I'll have him leashed, and will keep him away from you. Not to fear, as he is completely obedient."

Illya looked nervously at Napoleon as Mieli disappeared.

"Will you relax?"

"Easier said than done." Illya mumbled.


	3. Chapter 3

The woman walked in holding Hans on a tight lead and the moment they stopped, the dog took a stately pose, looking over the strangers with keen interest.

"Temperament of individual dogs may vary," she spoke with pride in her voice, "but Hans is wonderful and completely obedient. The Standard says that the breed is "good-natured and devoted towards people familiar to him, though slightly suspicious of strangers."

"You have a good hold on him?" Illya stood slowly with a cagey look in his eyes, taking a few steps back to put more distance between him and the dog, even though he was a good fifteen feet away from it.

"Trust me Mr. Kuryakin, Hans won't hurt you. Originally this breed was kept for guarding and herding as they were working dogs, and today they're kept as lively companions, and of course the best specimens like Hansi are shown." She gave the dog a hearty pat on the side. "He wouldn't do anything unless you threatened to hurt me."

Napoleon stood slowly, approaching Hans. "Is it okay if I pet him?"

"Ja, just let him sniff your hand first."

Napoleon held it out, letting the dog getting his scent and instantly it licked him and wagged its tail. He smiled and scratched Hans behind the ear.

"See chum, he's friendly, come on."

"No thank you, I can see him fine from here." Illya struck a defiant pose, standing his ground.

Napoleon shrugged, returning his attention to the dog.

"He's a sturdy looking fellow."

"The males are longer, less square than the females, yes sturdy, and tend to be medium-sized. They have small, triangular ears and rather small brown eyes. The head is well proportioned to the body, with a strong flat skull. The long jaw is well formed and powerful. The feet are compact, supporting its muscular body. Hansi here is a perfect specimen, his height at the withers is 50 cm and he weighs 30 kg."

Not knowing any particulars about the breed, Napoleon feigned interest just to be polite.

_"Sehr gut Hans. Kommen_ very good Hans._ Come. I think our visitors have seen enough of you for the moment." Meili looked to Illya, seeing how uncomfortable he was and led the dog off, returning within a few minutes.

"Now Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, if you'll join me for lunch? I'm sure you won't mind a home cooked meal before you whisk away my Hans to New York."

"That would be most appreciated," Illya nodded, feeling a little better now that the dog was gone.

They feasted on_ Zürcher __Geschnetzeltes_-thin strips of veal with mushrooms in a cream sauce served with_ rösti, _a popular potato dish eaten all over Switzerland, served along with it was an assortment of cheeses and bread, accompanied by a fine wine from Zurich. The meal was concluded with apple tarts and coffee.

"I must say you set a fine table," Napoleon said, taking a sip of his wine. He looked to Illya who'd cleared his plate, but made no attempts at seconds; thinking this was a bit unusual for his partner.

"So Mr. Solo, you will take Hans directly from the airport when you arrive in New York to Signor Fratelli?"

"Yes, ma'am that is the plan. I understand Mr. Fratelli will be waiting at his residence and from there we'll escort him and the do...Hans to Madison Square Garden.

"And who is the handler Miss Bixler?" Illya finally spoke up, having been silent other than to offer his compliments on the meal.

"His name is Johan Amsler."

"Does he work for you?"

"Not directly Mr. Kuryakin. Professional handlers are hired by owners to show the dogs, they may actually work with several dogs in one show, but Johan works strictly with Hans and treats him like royalty. He knows how valuable a dog he is. He has been grooming Hans for Westminster for some time now. They work beautifully together. Johan makes himself nearly invisible so that Hans has the judges complete attention, and he knows how to work the audience."

Illya tried not to show his disdain for this bourgeois showing of animals that seemed to be treated better than humans at times. He could not rationalize this ridiculous notion of glorifying dogs and raising them up on a pedestal. He had seen photographs of these dog shows where the animals are fluffed and fawned upon as if they were royalty.

Meili could see the look in his eyes, and spoke up.

"I can tell you do not approve of dogs being shown, putting your dislike of them aside. They really are wonderful animals and bring much joy to their owners...and breeders like me."

"Miss Bixler, the only experience I have ever had with dogs was them trying to kill me, so you will forgive me if I do not subscribe to your point of view, nor will you convince me otherwise. Dogs have the potential to become murderous beasts, all animals do as it is in their nature. You said yourself that Hans could turn on a human being he is perceiving to threaten you. No dog or any other creature can be fully trusted."

Meili said nothing, as she was accustomed to people telling her their opinions on dogs in general.

"Mr. Kuryakin, you are entitled to your opinion, and I won't hold it against you. All I need you to do is to make sure Hans remains safe."

"Rest assured, he will,"Napoleon interjected.

The agents were shown upstairs and after freshening up, it was time to leave. There was no rest for the weary and the Napoleon and Illya went out to the car, awaiting the arrival of Hans.

Illya stood at the far end of the dark Opel Kadett limousine, thinking the only reason they were given such a posh car was for the sake of this dog. A folded down travel cage was brought out and placed in the boot of the car. Meili appeared moments later with Hans on his lead, and she opened the back door to the limo for him to jump inside.

"Oh no Miss Bixler," Illya protested, "He rides in the cage, not loose in the car."

"Mr. Kuryakin," she enunciated his name, taking a strong tone with him. "I'll not have Hans stressed out before the show. He is accustomed to riding free in the back of the limo."

Napoleon looked to Illya, cutting off the expletives he knew were about to come out of his mouth.

"I'll sit in the back with him...umm would you object to him wearing a muzzle Miss Bixler?"

"No not at all, he is used to one as it is actually required in public places. She handed Napoleon a wire basket muzzle. "Now please only for the drive to the airport. Once he is in his carrier, please remove it. And be sure he has water in his dish for the flight." She handed Napoleon a small bag of treats as well. "Hans is used to controlling himself in his cage, but you may need these just in case." She handed him a few small paper sacks."

"Gee, thanks," Napoleon crinkled his nose, not having considered that part of the deal on the flight to New York.

Meili Bixler knelt down in front of the dog._ "Viel Glück, mein Hans. Achten Sie darauf, für mich gewinnen schatzi_good luck my Hans. Be sure to win for me schatzi." _She gave him a kiss on the head, patted him on the side and rose, facing the two UNCLE agents.

"Take good care of _Großherzog Hans_ grand duke Hans,_ gentleman or you'll answer to me."

"You have our word we'll keep him safe and sound, right partner mine?"

Kuryakin made a face, then flashed a fake smile at the woman. "To be sure... Grand Duke Hans, ridiculous, bourgeois,"he mumbled under his breath.

Napoleon got into the back seat of the limo, regretting now that he'd worn a dark suit as he was sure he'd be covered with dog hair by the time they reached the airport.

Illya slipped into the driver's seat, and started the car. "Keep a tight grip on that beast Napoleon, or I swear once I get my hands on you, your voice will be an octave higher and you will never want to be with a woman again."

"Jeeze Illya, no need to resort to nasty threats. You'll be fine. Look the dog is laying down."

He glanced to the back seat, seeing Hans draped across Napoleon's lap.

The Russian put the car in gear and drove off, and within fifteen minutes Hans was asleep.

"Hmm, they say kids and dogs in cars...never fails." Napoleon chuckled.

Illya turned on the car radio, hoping the music would help keep his mind off the fact there was a dog within close proximity to him. It worked for a while until Hans' panting face suddenly appeared next to the Russian's face and licked him on the cheek.

He let out a loud disapproving yelp, bringing the limo to a screeching halt.

"Napoleon! Get that animal away from me!" He bellowed at his partner.

The American had drifted off to sleep himself until the car slamming to a stop jolted him awake. He pulled back on Hans' lead, drawing him to the back seat.

"Sorry pal, my fault. I dozed off."

"You have but one job at the moment and that is to keep him away from me. Please Napoleon do not falter. I am particularly on edge at the moment."

"Okay okay. I won't fall asleep again I promise. Just get us to the airport in one piece. After I've walked the dog, we'll get him into his cage and on the plane. Then you can relax."

"Thank you," the Russian tersely responded.

They arrived at the airport and after Napoleon took Hans for a quick walk, they entered the airline terminal. Much to the dismay of the UNCLE agents, people recognized Hans instantly, and crowded around in greeting. Apparently the dog was a bit of a celebrity.

Again, Illya shook his head at the attention being given a meer dog and such a thing, he'd never quite understand. He suddenly realized he could no longer see Napoleon and the dog among the throngs of people who had gathered around them...


	4. Chapter 4

Illya, lugging the folded kennel cage along with his valise, watched as a small crowd gathered around the dog and his partner as they headed for the departure gate. He put everything down and prepared himself, just in case this might be the attempt to take Hans.

He gave a sigh of relief when the dog-fans finally drifted away, and the trio were able to head to check-in. Arrangements had been made with the airline for Hans to ride in the rear of the plane, rather than stowed in the luggage hold. The dog was considered too valuable an asset as well as being the most famous dog of his breed in all of Switzerland and therefore a source of pride to the Swiss.

Napoleon stopped for a moment, chatting up a dark-haired stewardess named Greta who welcomed them aboard. She winked, knowingly at the handsome America, having been briefed before the flight regarding the special arrangements to transport Hans, as well as about the two men traveling with the dog.

"I hope Hans will be safe on the flight," she whispered to Napoleon. "The passenger manifest seems in order.

"Thanks you Miss...Greta, but I think we will be the judge of that. Might we have a copy of it once we have become airborne?" Illya asked firmly, but politely.

"But of course...umm," she looked at her list. "Mr. Van Leeuwenhoek.

"Thank you, that would be most helpful." The Russian continued past her, carrying the cage to the back of the plane, cautiously eyeing his fellow passengers...noting a few looked vaguely familiar, but nothing that set off any red flags to him. He continued to the back; he set up the cage, allowing some space between him and Hans by making a beeline for his window seat as Napoleon walked the dog down the aisle.

A stainless steel bowl of water was put into the cage, the muzzle removed and Hans was settled in by his new American companion. He gave the dog a couple of treats and a good scratch behind the ears before safely locking the pooch up for the flight.

"You take it easy Hans, and I'll be back to check on you later...and don't mind my grumpy old partner. He's a good guy."

The dog tilted his head, wagging his tail and staring at Napoleon in a quizzical fashion, making the American wonder for a second if it could really understand him. He never had a dog growing up in the Hamptons, as his father forbade pets, but most of the neighbors had them, purebreds of course and many show dogs, so he had been around them as a child, and to him dogs were no big deal.

He returned to his seat, but a few rows away from the kennel cage, and sat next to his partner who already had his head laid back.

"Sleeping already? We haven't even taken off."

Illya popped open one eye, staring at him. "No, just resting my eyes and trying to relax. You do not understand how tense I become when around dogs, and I need to relieve myself of that tension before a migraine sets in."

"I do understand more than you think. We'll have a nice flight and after we safely deposit the dog at show...I'll treat you to a nice dinner and drinks at the 21 Club. Just relax, Hans is safely locked away in his cage and won't bother you.

"Thank goodness for small favors, and thank you for the offer of dinner but that is really unnecessary."

Napoleon contorted his face at his partner. "You must really not be feeling well if you're turning down a free meal."

Illya didn't respond, and just closed his eyes again. Solo shrugged and followed suit, as he jet-lagged himself.

The flight was turbulent, not permitting the agents to catch up on their sleep after all and following several sudden drops, Illya began to pale. To his embarrassment, the Russian became air sick and retreated to the lavatory, not wishing to use the bags the airline provided for just such a problem.

When he returned to his seat he was looking flushed and even more uneasy.

"You okay chum?"

"Do I look okay? I am an experienced pilot and never get air sick; this is not like me." Illya snapped, losing ones lunch was not a pleasant feeling, especially for one enamored of his food as the Russian was.

He took Dramamine and asked the Stewardess for ginger ale, and that seemed to take care of things, and was asleep within minutes inspite of the rough flight, and nearly slept right through dinner.

Though they were traveling coach, the stewardesess saw to it the UNCLE agents received a meal from the first class menu, this however, was only because they were escorting Hans. So they in essence had a dog to thank for their bounty.

For Hors d'oeuves they had imported Malossol Caviar, Melba Toast, and slices of Foie Gras de Strasbourg. Soup was a cold Vichyssoise. The main course for Napoleon was a Swiss speciality of Minced Veal with Button Mushrooms in Cream Sauce, Spaetzlis in Butter, and a salad Salad. Illya opted for the veal steaks, Swiss-Italian Style, with thin Layer of Swiss Cheese, Noodles in Butter, Braised Lettuce with Chipolata.

"I thought you were air sick?" Solo laughed as he saw his partner dig into his food with relish.

"I took the medication, and the ginger soda settled my stomach, so as you can see I am more myself now, "the Russian grinned.

Napoleon stepped back to check on Hans and found the dog laying down, seemingly unaffected by the turbulence, He guessed the animal was accustomed to flying, traveling to shows around the globe.

"Hi there Hansi boy, you doing all right?" He reached inside the cage, giving the dog a hearty pat, and a few more treats. "So are you going to be the one to cure my partner of his fear of doggies? If you're extra-nice to him, there's a T-bone steak in it for you."

Hans sat up, pawing Napoleons hand, and gave a small yip. It was if the dog was agreeing to the agents terms. Solo shook his head," Noooo," he muttered to himself, though he half wondered if the dog really understood this time.

He returned to his seat, settling in to watch the in-flight movie, this time it was something more interesting...a Steve McQueen film called "The Great Escape."

Solo dozed off again, missing most of the movie, and when he awoke, he peeked over at his partner, still sound asleep. That was the best thing for the Russian at the moment. Napoleon, stood, feeling like stretching his leg and just as he did, he heard a commotion coming from the first class section. There was a scream and he charged from his seat, ready to pull his Special. Illya woke instantly and was right behind him.

A thin blond man suddenly appeared in the aisle, brandishing a Luger and had the barrel pointed straight at the stewardess' right temple. He had his left arm wrapped around her, and the fear was evident in her wide brown eyes.

This had to be it, Napoleon guessed. They were hijacking the plane and going to take the dog.

He moved his hand away from his gun, assuming Illya was doing the same thing; though he had sleep darts in his magazine, his partner tended to favor live ammo. If there were any wild shots fired in retaliation by the hijackers, the cabin could decompress and if any windows were shattered that could create even greater problems...not to mention, there were too many innocents who could be hit.

"Return to your seats now!" The man ordered with a heavy German accent,"Or I will kill her, and she will be just the first if anyone tries to be the hero." He tone was menacing and no doubt he was serious about his intentions.

Illya backed towards their seats with his partner right behind him.

"They did not seem to react to us, perhaps they do not know we are the ones escorting the dog?" Illya whispered. "Though they would have surely seen us board with..."

"I know chum," Napoleon cut him off. He was listening as the other passengers began to whimper and cry.

"I want all your passports out as well as your valuables," the hijacker shouted in English and repeated himself in German and French.

The sounds of fear rose in the cabin. "Silence!" It became eerily quiet as the passengers clung to each other, now afraid to make a sound.

"One of my men will be coming around to collect everything. If you do not cooperate, you die. It is as simple as that."

The UNCLE agents discreetly undid their shoulder holsters and ducked them with their guns under the seat cushions.

"Our passports are under our cover names, so they shouldn't attract any undue attention," Napoleon whispered, removing his UNCLE ID from his wallet and handing it to Illya; the Russian ducked it along with his into one of the magazines in the holder in front of him.

Another brown-haired man, also armed with a gun, appeared in the aisle, and carrying a trash bag, he held it out for each of the passengers to deposit their belongings into it.

"You, lady...off with that gold ring now," he ordered a white-haired woman..

_"Aber ... aber es ist mein Ehering_but...but it is my wedding ring,_" she pleaded in German." _Es ist alles, war ich von Meinem verstorbenen Ehemann Verlassen Haben_it is all I have left of my late husband."_

The hijacker raised his hand to strike her, but his comrade called out, stopping him.

_"Otto nein!_" He shouted in German.

_"Aber Rolf_but Rolf?_"

"Leave it! Sorry, old mother but my companion is a bit too enthusiastic. You can keep your marriage ring, but please empty your purse into the bag," he said, seeing the woman was very well dressed.

She overturned her brocade hand bag, dumping a jewelry roll and a substantial amount of cash into the plastic bag.

When he reached Solo and Kuryakin, he eyed them suspiciously. The agents deposited their wallets and watches, but Illya had already removed the thin gold ring from his finger and tucked it in his sock. He was not one to plead like the old woman, and the ring was the one last object he possessed tied to his father, and would not part with it.

Both he and Napoleon had hidden their communicators in with the magazines, keeping their fingers crossed they'd be safe along with their UNCLE ID.

"Let me see your passports and travel papers you two," the man ordered ...


	5. Chapter 5

Napoleon held out their paperwork one piece at a time, passing them to the hijacker.

The documents indicated his name was Anthony Caruso, a salesmen for the Acme Novelty Company. Luckily his valise in the overhead compartment contained a small sample case and brochures, just in the event he needed to show further proof of his employment, as one never knew what could happen on an assignment. This was a perfect example...

Illya's passport stated he was a Dutch businessman named Joop Van Leeuwenhoek and his cover was that of an architect heading to New York for a business consultation. In his suitcase were a few sets of building blueprints, just for show.

"_Je bent uit Holland?_" Otto asked Kuryakin, speaking in Dutch.

"_Beter gezegd, is naamwoord het Nederland. IK ben visitors Nederland_rather the Netherlands. I am from the Netherlands," _Illya corrected._ "We prefer that to Holland."_ That name, to the Russian, conjured up images of children wearing little wooden shoes, tulips and windmills...

It seemed to satisfy the man and he continued on gathering things in his bag and questioning other passengers as he moved down the aisle, gun in hand.

"Napoleon, I do not think this is a dog-napping, it is a genuine hijacking, a potential hostage situation. That man, Rolf...I knew there was something familiar about him when I saw him as I was boarding. He is Rolf Baader, a member of the West German far-left militant group, known as the_ Rote Armee Fraktion._".

"The Red Army Faction?" Solo whispered in return. That was bad news...

At that moment Baader called their attention, making an announcement to all the passengers and crew.

"We are commandeerering this plane ifn the name of freedom. Four our purposes, it is being redirected to Tunisia, and there you will be held hostage until members of our group are released from their illegal imprisonment in West Berlin. If our demands are not met, it is our plan to execute one of your for each day the deadline passes. If you believe in a God...I suggest you start praying for Him to convince those holding our comrades back in Germany to free them so that we might spare your lives."

That sent up a shriek of gasps and sobs from among the passengers.

"Oh boy,"Napoleon mumbled, and grabbed his communicator once the remaining hijacker returned to the front of the plane...

Just as Napoleon opened it, preparing to speak into it, Illya grabbed his hand.

"Shhhush, Otto is coming back."

They watched as the man walked past them to the rear of the plane, grabbing the coach stewardess by the arm, and dragging her with him towards the front.

Hans sat up in his cage, giving a deep guttural growl.

"Who's mutt is this?" Otto demanded. Napoleon raised his hand, slowly standing."That would be me."

"I thought you were a salesman. Why would a salesman be travelling with a..._Sennenhund_," he asked, apparently recognizing the breed. Otto squinted suspiciously, cocking an eyebrow, and staring with a narrowed eye at Napoleon.

"Urmmm, my Uncle in New York bought him and I'm doing him a favor by bringing the dog to him."

"Well isn't that special... keep the animal quiet or your Uncle will have a dead dog along with a dead nephew, am I clear? _Verstehen Sie?_"

"Yes, I understand...might I feed the dog? That should keep him happy and quiet." Napoleon asked, feigning timidity.

"Fine, be quick about it, and no funny business. Remember we have plenty of hostages," Otto pointed his gun at the stewardess.

"Yes please sir," she pleaded, "I do not want to die."

Napoleon looked at her nametag, pretending not to know her name.

"Don't worry... Elsie, I'll be very careful, I promise.

The woman, knowing who he and Illya were, and went along with Solo's ruse.

Napoleon watched as Otto pulled Elsie with him to the first class section, while another of the hijackers remained there in the aisle between the bulkheads separating first class from coach, though they left the curtain drawn.

Solo turned his back, looking like he was busy with the dog, but had actually pulled his communicator.

"Overseas relay, Solo here, please do not respond. Mr. Kuryakin and I are in a hostage situation aboard our flight to New York...members of the Red Army Faction have hijacked the plane and are taking it to somewhere in Tunisia. They're threatening to execute passengers if their members imprisoned by the German government are not released. I repeat, do not respond. Will leave my communicator hidden with the channel open. Solo out."

"Hey who you talking to?" Otto was again walking towards him.

"Just the dog, I'm just trying to keep him calm."

"I thought you were going to feed him," Otto eyed Napoleon suspiciously.

"I was, but I don't seem to be able to find his food...I just gave him some treats. He's a good dog and won't bother you. Excuse me sir, but how long until the deadline you've set passes?

"Twenty-four hours."Otto suddenly pointed his pistol at Hans' head, pulling the trigger with a 'click,' somehow knowing the chamber was empty. He laughed at Napoleon, seeing him exhale in relief.

"Get back to your seat now," Ottos snickered, "or the next time there will be no empty chamber."

"Yes, sir, right away," the American spoke in a sniveling voice, sounding like a bit of a wimp.

He slipped into his seat beside his partner, tucking his communicator into the outside breast pocket of his suit jacket, shoving it in as low as he could.

When it was clear, he whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"How many do you estimate?"

"At least four, maybe five," Illya looked straight ahead, as if he wasn't speaking to Napoleon. "While you were in the rear of the plane with Otto, I heard Rolf speaking and there were two distinct voices that replied to him. I am assuming there is one out of earshot in the cabin, controlling the pilot and copilot."

"Five...hmmm," Napoleon said.

"I know that look in your eyes; you are formulating a plan, yes?"

"Sort of, but for now let's take a 'sit back and watch' approach," he pointed to the communicator,"We have ears on and the deadline isn't for another twenty-four hours."

The Russian's eyebrows arched in surprise, as Napoleon Solo rarely took that road; he was more of a 'figure it out as you go' sort of man, but one who acted quickly. Since headquarters was already aware of the situation, they were most likely tracking the plane on whatever flight plan it was now taking.

It made sense that he and Napoleon could not make a move until they were off the plane, if that was indeed what was going to happen once they landed... and Illya hoped they'd be in a more manageable location, one that would be more to their advantage...

No one had been searched for weapons, as the hijackers had foolishly assumed no one was carrying...that was at least one thing in the UNCLE agents favor.


	6. Chapter 6

Alexander Waverly sat alone in his conference room, staring out one of the narrow windows that permitted him a view of the nearby United Nations complex.

The news he'd just received regarding the plane hijacking was most disturbing, as the demands and threats by the members of the notorious Red Army Faction were not to be taken lightly. Though they were in their early stages of growth as a terrorist organization, they were still not to be trifled with.

They were young, determined and had a clear agenda of violent actions against the state. The RFC subscribed to Marxist-Leninist ideology and sought to overthrow the capitalist West German government and to fight perceived American imperialism. This post-war generation was an enigma to their elders, and the government of West Germany.

Alexander huffed to himself, and taking a few steps towards his conference table, he reached for his humidor and opened it; the strong scent of the tobacco filling his nostrils. He filled the bowl of his pipe, not thinking about it at all as, doing so had become habit...a second nature to him.

He struck a wooden match and for a moment as it flared, giving off the slight smell of sulphur, but it quickly dissipated as he set the flame to the tobacco. The heady aroma of Isle of Dogs No. 22, his special blend, wafted into the air as the smoke circled around his head..

Returning to his spot near the window; he resumed gazing out at the view of downtown, the smoke from his pipe following him like a lifeline a he tried to puzzle out this situation.

The Red Army Faction had taken a drastic measure to have their comrades released...including his agents, the crew and passengers; there were nearly two-hundred people at risk on that plane. The sooner it was intercepted, the faster everyone could be rescued before the executions could begin, but it was less than twenty-four hours now before the deadline would arrive...

Hostage situations were always tricky, and the thought of anyone of those innocents losing their lives because of UNCLE's actions troubled the CCO.

Waverly had spoken to the Chancellor of West Germany about the situation, and was told in no uncertain terms the Rote Armee Fraktion prisoners would not be released. The man was adamant about that, and given there were two armed UNCLE agents onboard the DC-8 jet, he charged the Command with intervening to defuse the situation and rescue the passengers and crew.

That as they say, was that. There was nothing the Old Man could say to dissuade the Chancellor otherwise.

Solo and Kuryakin had left a communicator open, but were unable to speak directly, nor UNCLE with them without giving things away.

At the moment, being able to hear what was going on in the background indicated the atmosphere within the jet was fairly calm, with only periodic threats being made by the man Kuryakin identified as Rolf Baader.

The man was a Lieutenant in the RFA, known for his viciousness, and had taken over the Red Guard when members had been captured, tried and found guilty of treason, terrorism and murder. They were sentenced to life in behind bars and were being temporarily housed in Spandau prison, having the only remaining Nazi war criminals as their fellow inmates...Baldur von Schirach, Albert Speer, Rudolph Hess.

Waverly dared not risk trying to speak to his agents onboard the flight, lest their identities be given away. Knowing Napoleon Solo, he was formulating some sort of plan...two UNCLE agents against five hijackers were not insurmountable odds, but who knew if those numbers were accurate , or if other members or sympathizers awaited the SAS jet wherever it landed. There were too many 'ifs' in this equation...

It was the innocents for whom he feared. They were very much at risk not only from the threats of Baader, but should any gunfire erupt onboard the plane...it could have dire consequences.

The one thing in UNCLE's favor was the communicator signal was still strong and that was allowing Intelligence to track the jetliner. They already knew the destination was Tunisia, but where in that country, they had no idea until the plane landed.

UNCLE assault teams were already winging their way from France, Italy and Spain, and would stage themselves in the city of Tunis. From there they would embark, homing in on Solo's communicator signal, once the plane had touched down...or so that was the plan at the moment.

Still, it was a high-risk situation. An assault team versus the hijackers; and getting on board if the passengers were kept in the plane was problematic, to say the least, even with his agents present.

In the whisperings between his Solo and Kuryakin, it was estimated there were at least five hijackers to be dealt with. Yet these two men were his best people and given the right opportunity they could strike and handle the five who were most likely ill-untrained civilians, for all intents and purposes, though some could have former military experience.

Not being there on the plane, however, nor having a true visual to assess the situation, Waverly had to trust his number one and number two men to do what they could, when they could.

The temperatures of Tunisia were quite hot this time of year, and given that, the hostages would most likely be removed from the jetliner ...but to where? That was the big question.

Flying from Switzerland to Tunisia was but two hours, and based on the communication from Solo, the plane could be landing within forty-five minutes if it were to do so near the coast. It had more than enough fuel capacity, though, to continue on straight to the Sahara desert.

It was being tracked on radar as well, and as soon as it disappeared from the screen they would have their answer as to general vicinity where the plane had touched down; thanks to the open communications signal on board, they'd be able to pinpoint the exact landing spot.

Alexander Waverly shook his head in dismay. This had been a simple assignment to accompany a dog to New York and now look what it had mushroomed into... not a dog-napping, as had been their focus. How Solo and Kuryakin always managed to be pulled into such complications was beyond him...

He relit his pipe, as it had gone out again and heading to the intercom in his alcove, he called to Lisa Rogers.

"Yes sir?"

"If you would be so kind Miss Rogers, I need a pot of good strong tea please?"

"The Yorkshire sir?"

"Yes that will do, thank you, and bring a cup for yourself, as I fear it's going to be a long night."

"Right away Mr. Waverly."

Lisa appeared a short while later with a tray carrying a flowered bone-china tea set and carefully lowered it down to the conference table.

She poured a cup for her boss and one for herself as well, seating herself beside him. Whenever Mr. Waverly invited her to have tea with him, she knew there was something weighing heavily on his shoulders.


	7. Chapter 7

Lisa Rogers watched as her boss took his first sip of tea. He turned to her, smiling just slightly.

"You do make a fine cuppa, I must say," he spoke softly.

She nodded her head in thanks but said nothing, waiting for him to do the talking as she knew that he needed a sounding board just to clear his thoughts. There were times he asked her opinion, but more often he needed her just to listen while he voiced his thoughts.

"We have a most dangerous situation in the making my dear. The plane carrying Messrs. Solo and Kuryakin has been hijacked." He exhaled deeply, taking another sip of tea.

"Oh dear, the dog? Is it the attempt at the dog-napping ?" Lisa asked.

"No, it is a terroristic undertaking by a German group who are intending to execute the passengers if their comrades being held in prison in West Berlin are not released. The Chancellor has refused to do so..." Waverly's shoulders drooped ever so slightly.

"Sir I'm sure Napoleon, err...Mr. Solo and Mr. Kuryakin will stop them."

"Would that I could count on that, but they are hostages as well. There is an assault team fully prepared, waitiing in the city of Tunis, as we're tracking the flight to Tunisia...but I fear if we try to take the plane once it lands, innocents will perish."

"Do we know where in Tunisia?"

Alexander Waverly looked at his wristwatch, seeing nearly thirty-five minutes had passed. "We should know very shortly...very shortly indeed." His bushy eyebrows raised with that statement.

The Old Man's communication panel came to life as a red light flashed and he flicked a toggle switch, lifting the hand-held microphone to speak into it.

"Yes?"

"Williams in Section IV, Mr. Waverly. We have a projected landing site for the hijacked SAS flight. 36˚ 41' 47"/ 10˚ 29' 30" East. That's the location of a small abandoned airstrip used during the war, it's near a town called Sulayman, just off the coast. Waverly's brow furrowed as he sought to recall that name, but nothing came to mind. "How far is it from Tunis?"

"Roughly eighteen miles sir."

"Hmmm, it will take our team three quarters of an hour to travel there. Alert them and tell them to head with all alacrity to Sulayman. "

"Immediately sir. Williams out.

Alexander absent-mindedly tapped his pipe in the large crystal ashtray sitting atop his conference table, emptying it of the burned tobacco and laying it aside. He took a deep calming breath, though anyone seeing the man would think his nerves were solid as brink.

He'd always been good at hiding his feelings, and supposed that was one of the reasons he'd taken a liking to Kuryakin, as the Russian possessed many traits that he himself exhibited when he was a but a young agent.

Those were different times, and even though it was the spy business, there were unwritten rules of mutual respect that one honored with one's enemy.

There was no such respect with these Red Army people, and that was something that troubled him deeply, no honor among thieves, as it were.

Lisa watched him carefully, seeing the discontent in the man's eyes.

"Another cup of tea sir?"

"Mmmm? Ugh, yes my dear, thank you." He held up his porcelain cup as she uncovered the teapot from the cosy and poured him another one.

"Mr. Waverly I have no doubt that our agents will get through this and succeed,' she smiled at him.

"I wish I could convince myself of that with your assurance."

Alexander Waverly took another mouthful of tea, and seemed to lose himself in his thoughts.

.

There was the annoying sound of high-pitched feedback as one of the stewardess' voices came over the public address system on the plane. It was lacking confidence and her fear could be heard as she spoke.

_"Meine Damen und Herren...May I have your attention_," she said in German. " We are have arrived at our ummm... destination. I ask that you return your seats to the upright position and fasten your seatbelts and prepare for landing. Please extinguish all cigarettes at this time," she hesitated for a moment."I'm told it may be a bit rough." The announcement was repeated in English and French until the loudspeaker silenced with a click.

"So what is your plan?" Illya whispered as he closed the latch on his seatbelt.

Napoleon looked rather displeased with himself. "For once I haven't come up with a plan my friend. I suppose we'll have to wait to see if they're keeping us on the plane or taking us elsewhere."

Illya swallowed hard; he wasn't used to his American partner being at such a loss, though Napoleon was one for thinking quick on his feet and improvising at the snap of a finger. He'd be right beside the man whatever course of action Solo might eventually propose.

The plane banked left circling before making its approach to land. As the Russian looked out the window, he could see the azure blue waters of the mediterranean sea turn into nothing but desert, and in the distance, there looked like a primitive airstrip. He elbowed his partner, nodding his head to the side.

"We are not far from the coast."

"Yeah but where...any ideas chum?"

The Russian shrugged his answer, though he was racking his brain thinking view looked familiar to him.

The pressure in the cabin changed as the jet descended, building in their ears until they both swallowed to relieve it. In the front of the plane there was the wail of an infant, the change in cabin pressure affecting it as well. The words of prayers could be heard whispered throughout the plane.

The Swiss Air jet dropped lower and lower until there was a loud thud as it touched down, and the engines roared to slow the forward momentum. It lumbered along the runway, hitting plenty of bumps that jostled the passengers, until it finally eased to a stop.

With all the commotion, Napoleon and Illya slipped their guns from under their seat cushions, quickly tucking them into the waistbands of their pants, hidden from view beneath their jackets.

If they were frisked before leaving the plane...they would be dead men for sure.

The other passengers began to whisper among themselves. The sounds of whimpering and crying began again as fear of the unknown was creeping back.

Rolf Baader stepped out again from the first class section, rejoining the man Otto.

"Tears will not help, nor will prayers...unless you pray the German government releases my people and spares your lives."

_"Pourquoi voudriez-vous faire cela_why would you do this,_" a man seated beside Baader called out in French. "_We are innocent and have done nothing to you and have nothing to do with the German government, or it's politics."_

"You are but a means to an end. Stop whining and be a man, if and when it comes your time to die," Rolf snapped at him.

The passenger cursed at him and as a reward was pistol-whipped for his boldness.

"Anyone else wish to voice an opinion?" Baader called out. He flashed a feral smile as his question was met with silence.

""Now prepare yourselves. Some of you will be removed from the plane to a nearby building that has been prepared for you. Take nothing with you, but you will, however, be searched. The rest will remain temporarily onboard."

"Shit," Napoleon cursed under his breath, glancing at his partner.

Illya said nothing. What could he say? Until they were or were not chosen to leave the plane, that would determine if they would have to abandon their Specials. If they remained onboard, less passengers and hijackers to deal with and that would increase their odds at success and if they were separated, that would be even more problematic.

Still, those passengers taken outside were at peril. If Solo and Kuryakin managed to take the plane, the others could be killed if the UNCLE agents didn't surrender. No matter which way Illya looked at it, it seemed an impossible situation. Strategy was not his forté; often relying on Napoleon for that ... and they'd managed to overcome the impossible before.

Still.


	8. Chapter 8

The man named Otto strutted along the aisle, looking from left to right, eyeballing each of the passengers and one by one he pointed to people with his handgun, ordering them out of their seats.

When he reached the UNCLE agents, he again stared at them...

"You two, let's go. Follow the others."

"Where are you taking us?" Napoleon asked politely, but loud enough for the open communicator to pick up his voice.

"To a building just outside," Otto barked at him. " Now shut up and move."

Napoleon and Illya avoided looking at each other, and as soon as Otto moved past them, they quickly shoved their guns back under the seat cushions. So much for that option.

Kuryakin grabbed his communicator, while Napoleon's was left, still open but hidden among the magazines.

As they reached the front exit of the plane, they saw the passengers being frisked by a woman. A dark-haired beauty with pale skin, and...she was wearing a stewardess' powder blue uniform. It was obvious she was with the hijackers, and had secreted herself on the plane to assist in their operation.

Napoleon wondered if she was indeed a stewardess or had somehow taken the place of the real one, and if that was the case, he had a bad feeling the woman was dead.

As she patted him down, he smiled, trying to turn on the Solo charm but it seemingly had no effect on her.

"Pardon me Miss, but my dog is in the back in his travel cage...might I be allowed to get him. He's a service dog as I have epileptic seizures and he alerts me when they're about to happen so I can prepare myself"

She looked at Solo's handsome face, finally succumbing to his magnetism.

"Ugh...Ja, I think we can do that," she suddenly took a sympathetic tone. "My brother was an epileptic. Hmmm I hope you're not one of the people selected to be executed if the government does not cooperate. I'll plead your case if they do pick you...handsome."

"Why thank you Fräulein," he winked at her.

"I will bring the dog to you. What is its name?"

"Hans."

"That is a good strong name," she smiled back at him, "And you are called?

"Anthony."

"I am Greta...ahh if it were only under different circumstances," she said wistfully as she gestured for him to step out of the plane. Napoleon looked down the stairs, seeing two more of the Red Army Faction waiting there.

There was a small terminal and tower not far from the cinder landing strip, and he spied the larger group of passengers ahead of him,numbering perhaps twenty with their hands on their heads, being escorted by another armed man.

That brought the Red Army numbers so far to a headcount of eight, and no doubt there were more of them inside the building. The odds just kept getting worse...

Illya stepped up to the exit, being roughly frisked by Greta. Either she didn't like blonds or people from the Netherlands...

"You, you're the Dutchman," she growled at him. She grabbed his pen, pulling it from his pocket and tossing it to the floor.

"And what of it?" Illya fearlessly snapped back at her.

She sneered at him. "I think you will be the first to go...one of you stinking Dutch killed my little brother."

"Really? You have my condolences, though he must have been doing something wrong and deserved to die. Who was it that caught him...INTERPOL?"

Greta slammed Illya's face with the back of her hand. "_Arscholch,_" she practically spat at him as she cursed.

"That is debatable, but you are most certainly not a lady."

That earned Kuryakin another slap and as she abruptly shoved him out the door, he lost his footing and almost tumbled down the stairs. Illya grabbed hold of he railing, steadying himself, and calmly walked down, meeting his partner and several other passengers waiting there. They too were escorted towards the building.

"Why do you always have to piss off our captors?" Napoleon whispered out of the side of his mouth as he raised his hands, clasping them on top of his head.

"I told you once before, I will resist to the end. I do it to tell a them I will not give in. I know there is the possibility of dying, but I will leave this world with defiance and not cowardice."

"Well do me a favor, don't be too defiant just yet, I still need you, okay chum?"

Illya rolled his eyes, actually cracking a smile.

Greta appeared at the top of the stairs, holding Hans on his lead. "Halt bitte!" She called to her comrade. "This one needs his dog, he is epileptic...you know like my brother Karl was? The dog helps him."

She handed the leash to Napoleon, who moved his hands slowly to take it.

"Greta," the guard said, "you are too sentimental at times. Who cares if he needs the dog. He is a prisoner and a potential...well, you know what, if the government does not give up our people."

"That does not mean we should be cruel about this. I for one hope we don't have to execute anyone. You know my feelings on that, as it makes us look like murderers instead of revolutionaries. Well, maybe I'd make an exception for the Dutchman," she sneered.

"Death and Revolution are synonymous Comrade," the guard reminded her.

Greta ignored him as she turned and walked back up the stairs to the plane.

"Hmm, I think we just found the weakest link chum," Napoleon winked.

"Ah the plan is finally coming to fruition?"

"It's a start." Napoleon said as they were shuffled along the air strip to the dilapidated control tower, with a building attached to it, once used as a small terminal. The structure was surrounded by remnants of galvanized fencing topped with barbed wire that looked quite old. It was not escape proof, as parts of the fence were missing, a fact not lost on the UNCLE agents.

_"Hör auf zu reden ihr zwei_stop talking you two!"_ The guard shouted at them, slamming the butt of his rifle against Illya's back."

He stumbled, wondering why he was always the target of choice, and not both of them...though he wasn't wishing anything on his partner. The Russian made a lightning quick spin, ramming his fist into the throat of the guard, smashing his Adam's apple, and killing him.

He took off at full speed, with Napoleon and the dog not far behind him. Shots rang out, hitting Solo, and bringing him down. Kuryakin was winged, but managed to escape around the corner of the building, with Hans bounding after him.

He quickly climbed to the roof of a small shed, and hid there as more members of the Red Army Faction, took off towards the dunes in search of him thinking he'd gone that way. He heard them shouting about him being wounded...but nothing about Napoleon.

Moments later, Hans appeared next to the shed looking upwards and whining.

"Go away you bloody dog!" Illya hissed, but Hans remained. The Russian suddenly remembered that Meili spoke to him in German.

_"Geh weg, Hans. Geh und verstecken! Schnell_go away, Hans. Go and hide! Quick!"_

The dog cocked its head, looking up where the voice was coming from, he suddenly took off, disappearing into the hills..

What seemed like hours later, after the search party had returned empty-handed, Illya slipped down from his hiding place, heading off into the rugged terrain.

Luckily he found potable water in the form of a small stream, and took a long drink before seeing to the wound on his bicep. It had stopped bleeding as it was merely a graze and he tore away a piece of his shirt, cleaning and washing the blood away. He bound it with another strip of cloth from his shirt... all the while his thoughts were of his partner, hoping Napoleon wasn't dead.

Illya sighed, wondering how he was going to get himself and the other passengers out of this mess...


	9. Chapter 9

Napoleon came to as one of the guards grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head upwards in a violent tug. That pain as well as a sharp burn in his right leg made him cry out.

"On your feet you," Otto growled.

The UNCLE agent struggled, and was barely able to stand having been hit in the hamstring."Hey, give me a break, if you haven't noticed, I've been shot."

Otto slapped him in the face. "Shut your mouth. You're lucky you're still alive." He turned to one of compatriots, ordering them to help the American to the building.

Otto looked on his list of passengers, noting where this one sat...next to the Dutchman who took off. "We'll have your friend back soon enough und then you will both pay the price for your audacity."

"Otto!" Greta called, coming up behind him. "Look what we found."

She held out Solo and Kuryakin's identification cards and the communicator.

"UNCLE?" Otto cursed under his breath.

"This one with the dog...he told me he was epileptic, and needed the animal." She pointed accusingly to Solo.

"He told me the dog belonged to his Uncle in New York," Otto added and grabbed Napoleon by his jacket."What is so important about the dog?" He looked at the ID card, "Herr Solo?"

"He's just my dog, that's all."

"Really, well I think you are lying.I think perhaps it is valuable to your UNCLE all right. Take him to Rolf," Otto ordered," and we will find out the truth of it."

Once inside the old terminal Napoleon was taken to Baader and unceremoniously shoved in front of him, onto an old wooden chair. Rolf saw the blood on Solo's leg, and in a moment of compassion told his people to see to the wound before they questioned the agent.

"There is a doctor on the passenger list, Toveli Yoder, get him," Baader ordered.

The guards returned with a bespectacled man, with thinning white hair. He carried a black medical bag that had been returned to him after it had been searched.

"Doctor, I need you to treat this man for a gunshot wound," Rolf ordered.

"I will do the best I can, but my implements are limited. I will need clean cloths, boiling water, soap and alcohol if you have it, as well as bandages. And I will need my scalpel, forceps and other such tools to take care of him, please." The doctor spoke with assurance in his voice.

"There is a first aide kit aboard the plane Greta, go get it."

"I will need a table for the patient to lay on while I remove the bullet. Do you have any alcohol...whiskey or such as I have nothing to anesthetize him."

"Greta wait," Baader called out to her, "bring some of the airplane bottles of whisky and such."

"Anything else," Greta huffed, feeling like she was being ordered about like a servant. Why did she have to do this, when any of their underlings could perform this menial task. She was loyal to the cause, but was feeling mistreated simply because she was a woman...as if she wasn't and equal in Rolf's eyes.

The needed supplies were brought and Napoleon was given a number of the mini-bottles of whisky to drink.

"How do you feel young man?"

"Pleasantly buzzed but the pain is still there," Napoleon answered, now laying on his stomach on top of an old metal desk. Dr. Yoder had sliced up the back of Solo's pant leg, revealing the gunshot wound. He cleaned around it as best as possible, wiping away the blood.

"The bullet looks to not be too deep, but I am afraid it will hurt either way," the doctor warned him. He examined the wound again carefully again before inserting the tips of the forceps into in. "I will be as quick as I can."

"Thanks Doc," Solo grimaced in silence and the man dug around for the bullet. It felt like minutes to the American, but took mere seconds for the forceps to latch onto the bullet.

"Aaaah, there it is, " the doctor dropped the piece of metal in a glass petri dish with a little 'clink.' He checked the wound to make sure it was clean, pouring vodka around it and proceeded to stitch it closed, giving Solo a shot of antibiotics before he placed several gauze pads on it, covering the stitches and wrapping it in another bandage.

Napoleon took a chance, remembering his high school Latin, thinking the doctor was surely familiar with the language because of his profession...at least he hoped he was.

_"Medicus. Ego AVUNCULO agentis. Obsidibus liberandis uestra opera mea. Numerare possum in vobis?_" Roughly translated, Napoleon identified himself as being an UNCLE agent and asked if he could have the physicians help to free the hostages. "_Socius meus evasit. Ille nos adjuvet_ my partner escaped...he'll help us."_

_"Affirmativa. Dicam de aliis_ yes I'll tell the others, " Yoder whispered back, also in Latin._

"What are you two saying? Rolf pointed his Luger at them.

"I was thanking the Doctor in Latin...since I don't speak..."

"Enough!" Baader snapped. "Herr Doctor you may leave now."

The physician went to gather his medical bag but was ordered to leave it behind.

"I will need to check on the patient later, as the dressing will need changing."

"Herr Doctor, I will let you know when that can happen, now leave."

Yoder showed no sign of fear. He'd seen worse during the war, and though Rolf Baader fancied himself a leader, he was a weakling compared to the Nazis the physician encountered in his younger day. None of them would have let this UNCLE agent been treated and would have executed him on the spot, though the doctor wondered if they needed the American alive for something...intelligence perhaps?

He would alert the others in the terminal to the UNCLE agents presence, as well as to the one on the outside. He recalled seeing the blond man with the intense blue eyes, and hoped he had the strength to help free them all.

.

Illya remained hidden as the sun was becoming intense. The one saving grace was the water as it helped him to remain hydrated in the midday heat. He could do nothing until nightfall, and would have to make due until then.

His thoughts drifted to Napoleon. Was his partner still alive? He'd kept running as the shots rang out, and never even turned to see if his friend had been hit...for that he felt a pang of guilt. At the same time it was his duty to survive, as was Napoleon's. They had to free these innocents somehow. The how of it was not crystallizing in the Russian's head.

He had no gun, though he did have explosives hidden in the heel of his shoe. His watch was gone though, and that had the trigger mechanism to ignite... There were matches in his pocket along with his pack of cigarettes in his jacket, those the hijackers at least left him.

In the hem of his trousers was a fuse... a very short fuse. He'd have to light it with a match, the old fashioned way. Perhaps the explosion would serve as a distraction, allowing him to get the hostages free. He would have to eliminate a guard beforehand to take his uniform and rifle.

Illya huffed. This was not going to be easy. He looked up at the sky, noting something seemed wrong, and the wind was beginning to pick up, and beginning to blow up the dust from the surrounding area.

.

"Yes Mr. Waverly sir," Mark Slate replied. "I understand, but there is a Chichili blowing in and it's going to delay our departure. I'm sorry to report visibility is near zero at the moment."

Mark heard what sounded like a growl coming across his communicator.

"Very well then, depart immediately once the effects of the Sirocco have lessened. Notify me when you do. Waverly out."

The communicator went dead and Slate shook his head. Sometimes the abruptness of the CCO left him dismayed. It was rare to hear the man demeanor...riled up, as April would put it.

"Speak of the devil," Mark smiled as his partner walked into the sitting room of the hotel suite they had engaged. The other eleven agents, Sullivan, Kelly, Scott, Matumba, Henderson, MacPherson, Gianelli, François, Rodriguez, Miller, and the newest female section II agent, Elliott McGowan were sitting idle and that was making them restless.

"Cor April, Waverly can be a bit..."

"Unnerving darling?"

"That's a bit more polite than what I was thinking luv. Looks like we're stuck here until this storm passes, so best we get something to eat. We'll go in shifts. You and Miss McGowan go with Kelly and Scott. And nothing too expensive mind you...don't want the Old Man coming down on us about the expense account."

"Mark," the red-headed agent McGowan chimed in with a thick Irish accent. "I told ye ta call me Elliott."

" Mark, please we do not need to rile up another redhead, you should know that from working with April?" Scott winked.

"Hey watch it you... goose," Dancer teased back at him. "Kelly, you need to keep your partner under control here...he's being a little too presumptous."

Mark snickered at that remark, ignoring what April had said to get back at her. "Right you are mate. So as I said, you, April...Elliott, Scott and Kelly, nip off for something to eat. Stay close just in case we get a window of opportunity to take off."

"Yes sir," April saluted, sticking her tongue out at her partner.


	10. Chapter 10

Baader positioned himself in front of Napoleon, standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest. His closely cropped blond hair gave the American the man was bald until the overhead light shone down on his head.

Napoleon knew from Rolf's body language that he might be in for some trouble, even though his injury had been seen to by the doctor.

"All right Herr Solo, keep in mind I permitted your wound to be treated, and will make this easy on you so I don't have to call the good doctor in again for further treatment. Now tell me, what is so important about this dog you were transporting? The animal must be awfully special for you to have lied about him to my people."

Napoleon huffed. There was no point in telling another lie but at the same time he wasn't going to reveal the whole truth about who really owned the dog and why it was being transported under the protection of two UNCLE agents.

"He's a purebred Sennenhund named Hans, a champion show dog and I...we were escorting him to New York to be shown in the Westminster Kennel Club dog show."

"Herr Solo, I find it hard to believe that an international organization such as UNCLE... known for its highly covert operations would send two of its agents to baby sit a dog."

"The owner is a friend of Alexander Waverly and our involvement was strictly as a favor asked for by our boss...you do know who Alexander Waverly is, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Rolf snapped, though he wasn't going to let on that he didn't know much about UNCLE or the man Waverly.

"That's it, simply escorting a dog as a favor," Rolf laughed.

Napoleon smiled along with him. "Yep, it's as simple as that."

Baader, without warning, backhanded the American.

As a thin trickle of blood flowed from the corner of Napoleon's mouth, he laughed out loud.

"You know this plan of yours, to blackmail your government, is not going to work, and if you kill any of the hostages, the reputation of the Red Army Faction throughout the world will be simply that of murderers instead of revolutionaries. Killing the passengers will not further your cause."

"Don't tell me what is wrong and right Solo. The masses will eventually rise up to overthrow our bourgeois masters, and along the way some will die. There are no innocents in a revolution, and those who remain on the sidelines, not choosing who to back must suffer the consequences of their inaction."

"That's a load of horse shit rhetoric," Napoleon shot back at him.

"We will see about that Herr Solo,"Baader leaned into Napoleon's face; the man reeking of a sour cigarette smell on his breath. "In the meantime, my people are hunting down your Russian friend...this Kuryakin. We'll see what smart-mouthed things you have to say when we dump his bullet-ridden body in front of you...after all, he is not an 'innocent, just like you."

"Rolf," Otto came into the room looking quite flustered.

"There is a sandstorm approaching. Might it be better to put the hostages back on the plane, at least it will be airtight against the dust and winds. There is only a small room here that would be safe against the storm and we cannot fit everyone into it."

Baaders face flushed red with anger. Their plan was going smoothly until now, as he discounted the UNCLE agents, but now to have to load all the passengers back on board the plane infuriated him. It was a necessity, though. If their hostages died, they'd lose their bargaining chip. There would be no executions on the plane, though he had a sneaking suspicion they would have to kill a few people to get the German government to stand up and take notice. They had to be alive for that to happen…

_"Teufel noch mal_dammit_!" He shouted. "All right Otto, start taking them back to the plane.

_"Jawohl mein mein furchtloser Anführer_yes my fearless leader_," Otto gave him a mock salute.

"Things not going quite to plan?" Napoleon snickered.

Rolf jabbed the muzzle of his Luger against Solo's temple. _"Sagen Sie ein Wort Amerikanischen Schweinehund und ich werde den Abzug zu drücken_say another word American pig-dog and I will pull the trigger."_

Napoleon squeezed his lips tight, knowing the threat was most likely real. It was time to shut up.

_"Ah, so dass Sie Deutsch verstehen, Herr Solo_so you do understand German Mr. Solo."_

Napoleon cocked his eyebrows in response, not letting Rolf goad him into speaking, though the man needed no excuse to shoot him. It was just part of Baader's game to try to intimidate him.

Rolf ordered the guards to get the agent to his feet, and keeping as much weight as possible off his wounded leg; Solo hobbled between them while they escorted him outside into the hot gusting winds.

The sand was beginning to blow everywhere, with the sky darkening, not from the setting sun, but from the storm that was quickly heading their way. The passengers were returned to the jetliner as well, while Baader and the original hijackers came on board with them as well. The remaining members of the Faction in the terminal prepared to seal themselves in the safe room, gathering up what supplies they had on hand.

Napoleon slowly lowered himself down into a seat near the exit, and peered out of the window, wondering if Illya was still alive. He crossed his fingers; saying a little prayer the Russian was safe, and would find shelter from this storm...and where was Hans? He shook his head in dismay at this simple mission having mushroomed into a potential disaster.

His one hope remained that UNCLE had been able to pinpoint the exact location of the plane through the open communicator signal, and that a rescue team was on their way. Well, they were hopefully on their way...with this storm who knew if they were stranded somewhere in the middle of it.

.

Illya watched as the passengers were escorted back onto the plane, and was relieved to see his partner, though wounded, was still alive. For a moment he felt a pang of panic thinking they were going to take off, leaving him stranded in this place.

He heard a sound behind him and turned, seeing the Sennenhund a few feet away. His immediate reaction was to scrambled away from it, but he stopped as he realized there was no tree for him to climb to escape it.

Hans remained exactly where he stood, not approaching the Russian, though Illya was sure the beast sensed his fear.

"You must calm yourself you _bolvan_blockhead_. The dog is gentle, you have seen it." It took a great effort to face his fear and he called to the dog, speaking in German.

_"Legen Sie sich Hans. Bleiben_lie down Hans. Stay!"_

The dog obeyed him instantly, but whined as the sand blew into its face.

Relieved at the moment that the dog wasn't going to attack him; Illya returned his attention to the jet and watched as the door was closed. The the rest of the guards returned to the building, shielding their eyes from the wind and sand that was beginning to blow more violently.

He knew he needed shelter as well, and needed it fast as being out in the open during a full blown sandstorm could be fatal. The shed that had been his original hiding place was no good, as the door was gone and the windows were broken. The interior terminal with it's broken windows and holes in the ceiling was worthless as well. The Russian presumed that was the reason why the passengers were brought back to the plane.

Looking to the dog again, Illya knew he couldn't leave it behind. It was still part of their ongoing, assignment. The loss of the dog to the storm could unduly influence its masters vote at the United Nations; no doubt the owner thinking his show dog had been eliminated by the 'kidnappers." Kuryakin huffed, no was responsible for its safety, regardless of how he felt about the dog, and the mission needed to be successfully completed.

_"Komm Hans, Ferse… und nein lecken_come Hans, heel...and no licking."_ The dog obeyed, joining the UNCLE agent by his side. Illya was still nervous, but still the creature behaved admirably. He at least felt a sense of relief, as it made no to attempt to touch him.

"Hmm, maybe you are not so bad after all Hans," he whispered.

The Russian headed to the entrance of the terminal with the dog bringing up the rear. Though weaponless, Kuryakin knew if he had but one opportunity to take down a guard; he would then be able to get his gun and uniform, and that was a start. Dealing with the storm, was a priority as well.

Illya slipped inside and watched as the men sequestered themselves in a room apparently safe from the storm and he quickly came up with a plan. Though a simple one, he hoped it would succeed. There was nothing to it but to knock on the door and see what happened.

_"Lehnen Hans,_" he ordered him to sit.

With the dog now by his side, Illya pounded hard on one of the double doors, loud enough to be heard over the winds that were beginning to howl. He called out in German.

_"Rolf will einer von euch jetzt! Schnell!_Rolf wants one of you now! Quickly!"_

One of the guards stepped out, closing the door behind him. He looked around, seeing only the dog. Illya suddenly appeared from behind the man, putting him in a choke-hold and using his body weight, his grip brought the man into unconsciousness.

He dragged the body out of sight by the ankles. After stripping the guard of his khaki uniform, Kuryakin tied him up with a bit of old wiring and changed into the uniform, placing the man's black beret on his head to cover his blond hair. He slung the rifle over his shoulder. For once the clothing wasn't a bad fit...

He returned to the doors to the room where the others were sequestered, and with another length of wire, he wrapped it around both door knobs that were side-by-side, essentially trapping the rest of the men inside.

"Hans I hope you will listen to me as I will need your help.._.Kannst du ein guter Hund sein und mir helfen, Hans?"_

The dog looked at him, cocking its head as if it really understood him and gave a little bark in reply.

"Maybe you do._ Komm Hans._"

Illya and the mountain dog exited the building, trying to move against the power of the wind and the blowing sands. He covered his mouth and nose with a bandana he found in one of his pockets, trying not to breath in the dust, as the sand stung against his exposed skin, and sheltered his eyes as best he could with his other hand.

Step by step, he climbed the stairway leading to the door of the jetliner, finally pounding against it with his fist with Hans right behind him.

_"__Lasst__ mich rein! Ich fand den Hund_let me in. I found the dog!"_


	11. Chapter 11

"Did you hear that?" A guard called out. "There is someone knocking on the door. He is yelling something about a dog…"

"Let him in and be quick about it, "Greta called from the pilot's cabin where she and Otto were busy studying the control panels.

Rolf, and the remaining hijacker were in the rear of the plane, having one of the stewardesses make coffee for them while they scrounged for food.

"You know the passengers are most likely thirsty, might I take the beverage cart up the aisle and give them something to drink?" Elsie, the head stewardess boldly told them. She took a few sandwiches from the refrigeration compartment, giving them to Rolf and Siggy.

"Ja, that is fine,"Rolf said,"Just no funny business." He pointed his Luger at her as a reminder.

Elsie unlatched the trolley, opened the doors to show the hijackers there was nothing troublesome inside it, and after receiving a nod of approval, she rolled it out in front of her.

She stopped at the rear seats, calling out. "I have been granted permission...would you like water or soda?" The woman quickly handed out the beverages, getting questions whispered to her as she did so.

"What's happening Fräulein? Are they going to take us somewhere else?"

"I do not know, now please be quiet; we don't want to upset them in any way."

Everyone knew the deadline was looming upon them, and the passengers for the most part were frightened into silence, wondering who would be chosen to die if the German government did not cooperate.

.

The guard in the front of the plane struggled with the door, trying to unlatch it, and after several attempts it opened and he held it in place against the wind.

Hans bounded inside and while the man was looking down at the dog, and in one swift motion, Illya smashed the butt of his rifle into the guards head, rendering him unconscious.

Napoleon was there in a flash, inspite of his pain and grabbed him before he hit the floor, taking hold of the sidearm and, in the blink of an eye, Illya tossed the man out the door, closing and locking it.

"Good to see you tovarish," Napoleon spoke softly.

"Better to see you my friend," the Russian half-smiled, handing his parter the handgun.

The passengers sitting nearby were overjoyed, but were silenced as Illya held his finger to his lips, shushing them.

"Otto and Greta are in the cockpit," Napoleon whispered."Rolf and the other one are in the rear somewhere."

Illya nodded, immediately calling out in German," _Otto, komm her und hilf mir bitte mit dem Hund_Otto, come here please and help me with the dog?"_

As soon as the man appeared the Russian pistol-whipped him into silence, caught him in mid-fall and lowered him into one of the empty seats. They gathered belts, neck ties and handkerchiefs, quickly gagging and binding the unconscious man, pulling against the bulkhead with the assistance of a passenger.

Napoleon nodded, as now it was his turn. He called out to the cabin.

"Greta, can you help me please, my wound is starting to bleed badly. I think I need a new dressing for it."

The blonde woman, still dressed in her powder blue stewardess uniform stepped out with the first aide kit in her hand, only to be grabbed by Solo, and with his free hand, covered her mouth.

She too was gagged and bound and quietly dragged into the cockpit. Kuryakin took her sidearm tucked into the waistband of her skirt...it was Napoleon's Special, and he brandished Otto's pistol to the passenger who'd helped them.

"Do you know how to use a gun?"

"Yes sir, I was in the military and once a Marine always a Marine, "the fellow, obviously an American, smiled.

"Good, but I do not need you to be 'gung ho'...do not use it unless it is absolutely necessary," Illya quietly hissed. He spotted Elsie coming forward with the beverage trolley, and as soon as she recognized him, her eyes filled with hope.

"Do you know where Baader and Siggy are located?" He ducked down, whispering to her.

"In the galley with the other stewardess."

"Bring the cart forward and clear the aisle."

As soon as the path was unobstructed Illya looked to the dog who had simply been sitting, waiting for his next command.

"Hans, come...walk in front of me," he again spoke in German, and for a second, Illya was again amazed at the animal's comprehension.

He followed the dog down the aisle, with Otto's black beret on his head, he kept it lowered to hide his face. Napoleon, unable to walk steadily remained in the front of the plane, though he was now armed and could shoot if necessary. The American was there with him as backup, if it came to it.

"Good luck chum," were Solo's last words to his partner.

Rolf spotted the dog walking towards him, not paying attention to the uniformed man walking behind it.

_"Gut, gut! Sie haben den Hund gefangen. Ich denke, er wird uns von Nutzen sein_good, good! You have caught the dog. I think he will be of use to us."_

Siggy looked directly at Illya and shouted out, warning Baader.

"It's the Russian!"

Illya was too fast for them as he raised the Special, getting off two quick shots, hitting both men with sleep darts, and watched as they collapsed on the floor of the galley.

The stewardess grabbed several electrical cords from the coffee percolators, and helped Illya tie up Rolf and Siggy after he relieved them of their guns

Cheers went up inside the cabin.. Illya turned, blushing with embarrassment as the passengers applauded his efforts; he waved them off as he returned to the front of the plane, greeting his partner.

"It is done Napoleon," he let go a great sigh.

"Nice job buddy if I do say so myself. So I see you're not afraid of dogs anymore," he grinned a the Russian.

"I would not make quite such a blanket statement. Hans is an exceptionally well trained animal, and that worked to my advantage. It, however, does not make me want to go out and get a dog."

Napoleon shook his head as he laughed at that response. Still it was a start for his partner getting over is phobia.

"Your leg, how is it?" Illya spotted the blood on Solo's pant leg.

"I've had worse. Luckily there was a doctor on board who removed the bullet and stitched me up. Hurts like hell though," Napoleon changed the subject." So how did you get the uniform and weapon?"

He recounted his little strategy, and reminded Napoleon the remainder of Baaders men were trapped in a storeroom inside the terminal.

"Well I guess it's time to call home...you have your communicator? Mine's gone," Napoleon said.

"Greta took it when I was frisked before leaving the plane." Illya snapped his finger, remembering she'd tossed it to the floor, and it had rolled to the side. After giving a quick look, he found it against the bulkhead beneath the still body of Otto.

_"Voila!"_ Illya smiled, setting up the communicator in an instant. "Open Channel D-overseas relay. Kuryakin to Mr. Waverly please."

The signal was riddled with static, most likely the sandstorm was affecting the signal.

"Mr. Kuryakin, good to hear your voice," Waverly answered. "What is your status?" (Crackling)

"The hijackers have been secured, (crackling) and the passengers are safe, including the dog, sir...though Mr. Solo has been wounded, not seriously, I am happy to report." (buzzzz)

"Excellent, excellent news all around. There is a team in( buzzzz) ... to assist you but are waiting out the storm. I'll have (buzzzz) patched through to them. I will contact the German Chancellor with the good news."

"Say again sir, you are breaking up. Where is the team?"

"Tunis. We're patching (buzzzz) though now."

A few seconds later the voice of April Dancer came over the communicator."

"Illya? Are you and Napoleon all right?"

"Nothing that a little tender loving care wouldn't hurt," Napoleon called out to her.

"Oh, goose, (crackling) good to hear your voice...and I'll make sure you get that TLC and something more (buzzz)…"

"Enough you two," Mark interrupted. "I should have known you lads would have gotten yourselves out of this mess. Do you still need us?"

(Buzzzz) "Yes, there is a dozen or so Faction members locked up in an old air terminal here, and we have five incapacitated hijackers on board the plane who need tending to," Illya answered.

(Crackling) "Right mate, we'll be there in two shakes of a lambs tail as soon a this bloody storm blows over. So see you then guv, Slate out."

An hour later the Chichili subsided, revealing a clear blue and cloudless sky. The door to the jetliner was slowly opened, showing the tower and terminal had drifts of sand piled around the foundations, but the airstrip was seemingly clear. The plane apparently sat an angle facing the jet engines sideways to the direction in which the storm had blown, and there seemed to be little build up of sand in the engines. Still they would have to be inspected and tested.

Forty-five minutes later, the backup team headed by Slate and Dancer arrived. The reunion between April and Napoleon was dramatic, with hugs and kisses for everyone to see, they apparently didn't care.

The Russian greeted Slate with a handshake, all the while eyeing Agent Mc Gowan. He winked at her and smiled as they'd become quite close since her reassignment to the New York office.

"Glad to see ye are all right Illya," she spoke to him with a heavy Irish accent.

"Glad to be seen, Anya, " he smiled at her with a twinkle in his eye, whispering his pet name for her.

Illya showed Mark where the other Red Army Faction members were being detained in the terminal. They were gathered, along with the now conscious Baader, and the others. A helicopter transport was ordered and would be about an hour before it arrived.

The jetliner was inspected, engines started and was deemed ready to resume its flight to New York, with a stop over at the NATO airbase in Marseille for a refuel and replacement of supplies along with a reinspection.

The hijacking had been kept under wraps and the general public not made aware of it. Families of the passengers were sequestered at Kennedy airport, and as soon as the plane arrived everyone would be debriefed, and for security purposes would have to sign off, agreeing to remain silent about the whole incident.

Napoleon remained behind in Tunisia and was taken to a hospital in Tunis for further examination and treatment. He wasn't happy about leaving Illya to finish the assignment alone, though the fact that April was there to keep the American company seemed to placate him.

Kuryakin, not happy himself, continued on with the plane to make the delivery of Hans to his handler at Madison Square Garden.

At the moment the dog was sitting in Napoleon's seat right next to the Russian. The passengers wanted the dog let free of his cage as a reward for his help in freeing them.

Illya, not completely comfortable with the Hans, held a magazine in his hands, still wearing the uniform of the Red Army guard he'd taken it from.

Every once in a while, he'd glance out of the corner of his eye at Hans as the dog sat panting next to him. Finally Illya tentatively reached over and patted the animal on the side as he'd seen Meili do back at the chalet at the start of their journey in Switzerland.

_"Gute Arbeit, Hans. Hinlegen und ausruhen. Sie haben eine Hundeausstellung zu gewinnen, enh_good job, Hans. Lie down and get some rest. You have a dog show to win, enh?_"

Illya grimaced as the dog, without warning, licked his hand, though obeying his command, and laying down with his head on the armrest, not taking his eyes off the Russian.


	12. Chapter 12

Illya continued to read, unable to close his eyes while sitting next to the dog. His head told him Hans was safe, a well-trained and friendly fellow, yet still, all of the Russians instincts and previous experiences with dogs continued to make him distrustful and still feeling nervous.

Finally, some time into the long flight, Hans began to whine at Illya and finally barked.

_"Was ist los Junge_what is the matter boy?"_ He snickered at himself for addressing the animal that way.

Again Hans barked, and Illya looked around to see if something was wrong. Hans whined excitedly.

"You must want something. _"Wollen Sie essen_do you want to eat?"_

No reaction._ "Wasser?" Still nothing._

"Do you need to...go to the bathroom?" Illya laughed at that question, as dogs do not use the lavatory.

Hans barked and became quite animated.

"Oh you do have to make…"

Illya stood, and Hans immediately jumped down from his seat, heading to the rear of the plane. The only place the dog could take care of his 'business' was in the crate, and as soon as he opened the cage door, Hans stepped inside and went to it.

Though not the most disgusting thing Illya Kuryakin had to do in his career as an agent, getting a paper bag from the galley and cleaning up Hans' not so little 'package' and disposing of it in the toilet was not high on his list of things to do.

He decided it best the dog remain in his crate, if anything to allow one weary UNCLE agent to get some badly needed sleep. As soon as Illya closed his sand-irritated eyes, he was out cold and didn't reawaken until he was jostled by the plane landing at Kennedy Airport in New York.

Illya moved to rub the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands, but stopped himself, as that would only make them worse. He remained seated, watching and waiting for the passengers to deplane. Some of them whispered their thanks again as they passed him, wishing Hans good luck at the show.

Illya simply nodded, and smiled just a little but for the most part remained quiet. Once the plane was empty, he got up and took the dog from his cage, but not before taking a deep breath before opening the cage door.

_"Komm Hans,_" he commanded and the dog obeyed instantly, heeling to the Russians side. Illya thought, "If only all dogs could be like this one." That he knew could never be true.

He spoke a few words of thanks to Elsie and the other stewardesses before he stepped out into the jetway, and from there it was a short walk into the airline terminal.

Illya was met by Tom Lopaka, the head of Section V Security, and watched briefly as the passengers from the ill-fated SAS flight were shown to a private area to be debriefed, after which they would be reunited with those friends and family awaiting their revival.

"Nice job handling this affair, Illya," Lopaka smiled. "Sorry to hear about Napoleon, but knowing him, brudda...you can't keep a good man down."

"Yes," Kuryakin smiled knowingly," I am sure he is being well-taken care of even as we speak," he chuckled to himself, not metioning April's presence would most likely be a contributing factor to Napoleon's recovery. "He should be back in New York in a day or two, returning with the backup team, do doubt."

"So this is the dog you two were escorting?" Tom looked at Hans, admiring him, though it's fur was somewhat a mess, and still full of sand." I'm impressed Illya...I heard you didn't like dogs."

"I still do not like dogs, but for this one I will make an exception. Now I need to get him to Madison Square Garden, as the show will be starting soon. We do not want Hans to miss his opportunity to win. That would cause me more trouble than I would care to experience."

"Nothing to worry about bro, the Old Man has a car waiting for you at curbside, just head that way," Lopaka pointed, but not until he gave Hans a friendly scratch on the head. "Good luck to you fella." He handed Illya a change of clothes, and the agent stepped quickly behind a security screen to change. It felt good to be in his usual suit and black turtle neck again.

When ready, Illya waved his thanks, heading off with the dog walking obediently at his side.

When they arrived at the car, Hans suddenly began to growl at the driver, making Illya suspicious, as he did not recognize the man.

"May I see your ID?" He asked, ready to reach in a flash for his gun beneath his jacket.

The young ginger-haired man produced his UNCLE identification immediately. "Agent Simmons sir. I was just transferred in from London," he spoke with a Manchester accent. That satisfied the Russian, and he again reassuringly patted Hans on the side.

Simmons opened the rear door for Illya, who had decided to not bother with the kennel cage for the sake of expediency, letting Hans ride in the backseat. He closed the door behind the dog, and slipped into the front passenger seat with the other agent in the drivers seat, nervously looking in the rear view mirror at Hans.

_"Legen Sie sich Hans. Bleiben_lie down Hans. Stay,"_ Illya ordered, sensing Simmons discomfort. "He is a very well-trained dog, you have nothing to fear from him, I suppose, as long as you do not pose a threat to me. The dog has somehow attached itself to me, I think."

"Yes, sorry Mr. Kuryakin, dogs and I just don't seem to get along. I have that effect on the, making them growl that its. I guess they do sense that I don't like them."

"I do understand, like you, I am not overly fond of canines. This dog, however, is an exception. Now, we need to get to Madison Square Garden as quickly as possible...this dog has a several competitions to win."

"Yes sir. Van Wyck Expressway to Queens Boulevard and then Woodhaven…"

Simmons stopped talking, when he noticed the Russian had closed his eyes, assuming he was asleep. He hadn't heard the details of the mission Kuryakin and his partner had been on, only that there had been unexpected complications.

Illya popped open one eye. "I was not asleep Simmons, just so you know, I am resting my eyes. They are somewhat irritated from having been pummeled in a sandstorm in Tunisia."

"Tunisia? I thought you and Mr. Solo were in Switzerland."

"We were," Illya cracked a smile, but said nothing more in way of an explanation. There was only so much that could be said about an assignment, even to a fellow agent."

"Yes sir, I understand. Classified."

"Correct." Illya pulled his communicator from his pocket.

"Open Channel D- Waverly."

"Yes Mr. Kuryakin," the Old Man responded sounding as gruff as usual.

"We have arrived and are on our way to Madison Square Garden sir."

"Excellent. Let's hope there will be no further complications with this dog. Hand him off as quickly as possible to Mr. Amsler. At that point local security will take control and you may return to headquarters for debrief."

"Yes sir, and with pleasure."

"Have you had any...problems dealing with the dog on your own?"

"No sir."

"Very well, I will see you in my conference room as soon as possible. Waverly out."

Simmons had heard the number two agent in Section II was on the quiet side, and rumored to be somewhat cold and detached, as he recalled the Russian's nickname, 'the Ice Prince' as he heard the short answers he gave to Waverly.

Though he seemed pleasant enough, he definitely was not talkative during the forty minute drive to the Garden. When the car pulled into the designated area, Simmons stood guard while Illya attached Hans' lead and exited the car.

"I'll be waiting here for you Mr. Kuryakin."

Illya nodded, making his way through a myriad of handlers, owners and every conceivable size and type dog; some of them the most ridiculously primped and pampered creatures he'd ever seen, as he entered the back entrance to the building.

There were myriads of kennel cages lined up, row after row, with handlers tending to their dogs,on small tables... combing them, blow drying their fur, fluffing them up, so much so that Illya rolled his eyes.

He located the section for the working dogs, and there he found the handler, Johan Amsler, looking quite distraught. Illya had seen him in photographs posing with Hans back in Switzerland and recognized him instantly.

The man rushed down to the dog, kneeling in front of him. "Oh mine God, what have they done to you Shotsie?" He snatched the lead from Illya's hand without so much as a thank you.

"It was a very precarious situation we were involved in with hijackers on our flight,' Illya spoke calmly, introducing himself to the limp-wristed handler." Hans behaved admirably, saving my life and those of the other passengers."

"You exposed him to hijackers….people with guns? You brute! Hans is a very special dog, and that could have ruined his temperament and unsettle him before a show. He needed to remain calm! And, and...you could have gotten him killed!" Amsler practically growled at the Russian.

"Herr Amsler, I will have you know that Hans was calm and obedient throughout the entire episode, and I think helping to save two hundred innocent human beings is worth more than any award from some bourgeois dog show. Good day, and good luck with the show." He gave Hans one last pat on the side. "Good luck, and thank you for being such a good dog."

Illya turned his back and walked away, not wishing to engage the handler in any further conversation. He decided to remain, to watch the competition in which Hans would be entered. That would be his first win needed in order to qualify for best in show.

A short while later when the working breeds were announced, Illya waited for Hans to emerge, but there was no sign of him. That was an instant red-flag, sending the Russian rushing back to the staging area.

There was no sign of Amsler, nor the dog but he heard a commotion coming from the exit. He ran, trusting his gut instinct the dog-napping was in progress.

There Simmons laying on the ground, out cold. A white van was parked next to the UNCLE car, and Amsler was cursing out the dog as it was refusing to get into the van. The man spotted the Russian, and drawing a gun from beneath his jacket, he fired a shot, hitting the agent in the right shoulder.

Illya staggered to his knees, losing hold of his Special, "Hans, help me!" Knowing he was at risk of being shot again, he called out in German.

The dog dove at Amsler, grabbing hold of his wrist, and clamping down with his powerful jaw, making the man drop his pistol.

Illya recovered his own gun, picking it up with his left and firing, hitting Johan with a sleep dart, before collapsing to the ground himself.

When the Russian awoke, he found himself in UNCLE Medical, staring at the face of his partner. Napoleon was leaning on a pair of crutches.

"Hi there partner mine," he smiled.

"Hi...where is the dog?"

"That's all you have to say. No nice to see you Napoleon, how's your leg?"

"All right," he huffed," Yes it is good to see you and how is your leg."

"Not bad, I'll be on crutches for a few weeks, maybe a little less."

"Now, might you answer my question?"

"The dog is fine. I hear he saved your life."

"Yes he did. Did he miss his competition?"

"I am afraid so,"Alexander Waverly responded as he walked into the room. "He is, however, safe and sound with his owner. Pity though he didn't get to compete….perhaps there will be an opportunity next year."

"And Agent Simmons?"

"He's fine, just a mild concussion. Gentlemen, I have to commend you both for your handling of that nonsense on board your Swissair flight. I understand that Hans was quite the 'asset'...perhaps I can convince his owner to let him someday join the ranks of the UNCLE canine division."

"We have a canine division sir?" Napoleon looked perplexed.

"In theory, Mr. Solo. It would be nice to have a dog of Hans' caliber to be it's first member. Perhaps you'd care to be involved in the program Mr. Kuryakin, given you seem to have gotten over your fear of dogs."

Illya's eyes went wide. "No thank you sir. I am not exactly over my phobia. Hans is an exceptional animal, and I was able to work with him. I would like to limit that to my experience with dogs, if you do not mind?"

Waverly harumphed his answer, with a barely perceptible smile. "Well get well quickly gentlemen as I have several assignments awaiting your attention." He turned, leaving without saying another word.

"Still chicken when it comes to dogs huh?" Napoleon jabbed.

"You already know the answer to that, so give it a rest. It is what we should both be doing...resting and recovering, that is."

Napoleon crinkled his nose at the rebuff. "Woof!" He said to his partner, just to rub it in.

"My friend, keep that up and next time we are on a boat, I will push you overboard," he threatened, knowing of Solo's fear of water.

"You wouldn't...would you _tovarisch?_"

"Try me…" Illya smiled wickedly.

.

Finis


End file.
